my bones are exposed. twisted and sanded by life wind and smoke they are grey and dull. i feel the fires creeping over the skin of mother like irate thrush. A rancher up Paradise Valley heard his cows screaming and braved the flame with a rifle to end their suffering. ricci's is swarmed by the drunken degraded masses toddling to and fro for tall boys of pbr. in my minds eye i see a drunk desparate to sell his only means of transportation, a john deere tractor, to keep the bookie at bay. he takes his paltry sum tears in his eyes and peddles away. just a shadow of the shadow that owned a tractor. the fix gets painted but the scruffs outside do not change. no rage is in me, just a prayer for the lost lamb. lost bovine. lost human. i once again feel hopeful this place will be a home with friends and beloved my eyes are open to my blessings just as they are open to the truth of much of life. suffering.

MontanaRaven had this image reminding me of my internal desert this evening.